


A Million Stars and the Moon

by luceluceluceluce



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: pointless rooftop dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luceluceluceluce/pseuds/luceluceluceluce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No real plot, no romance, just chilly rooftops and too much dialogue.</p><p>Sherlock and John discuss the stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Million Stars and the Moon

John shifted uncomfortably. His legs were nearly numb from sitting in the same position for so long, and his fingertips prickled with cold. He checked his phone for the third time in five minutes, but nothing had changed other than the little digital numbers in the corner that showed the time.

Half past two.

It had been a long night.

John sighed and leaned back against the uncomfortable concrete ledge of the roof, wishing he were back on Baker Street with a soft bed and a hot shower. He enjoyed going along to Sherlock’s cases- he really did. He never felt as thrilled, alert, _electric_ as he did when they were on the hunt for a criminal. But no matter the reason, sitting on a roof all night in late November, hoping their suspect would turn up sooner or later, wasn’t John’s idea of fun.

John wondered how Sherlock managed to tolerate these stakeouts, but for a man so restless to be constantly on the move, he seemed surprisingly content. He was perched on top of the ledge, bundled up in his long coat in a way that reminded John of an overgrown crow. His hands were pressed together and resting against his lips, and his eyes flicked back and forth as he followed the movement of people on the sidewalk five stories down. The apartment they were keeping an eye on- first story, slightly run down, belonging to a Mr. Charles Robinson who was unfortunate enough to get himself mixed in gang debt- was lit with the dim yellow glow of a streetlamp, and Sherlock craned his neck toward it as if a few extra inches would allow him to make the necessary deductions.

John had told him four times not to sit so close to the edge, and had received only stony silence in return, until John gave up and resigned himself to sitting close enough that he could tug Sherlock back if the need arose.

John rubbed his cold hands together and let his head flop back, sighing. One of the redeeming factors (possibly the only redeeming factor, John thought bitterly) of their chilly rooftop location was the view. The London skyline was laid out before them, bright and alive despite the late hour. But John was focusing his eyes on the sky- they were far enough from the heart of the city that the light pollution only blotted out the dimmer stars, and he felt almost as if he were drowning as he stared up at the millions of pinpricks.

“There’s the big dipper,” he said absently, raising a hand above his head.

Sherlock glanced over, his eyebrows quirking slightly. “Hm?”

“I said,” John straightened slightly, pointing more carefully, “you can see the big dipper. You know, Ursa Major. Right there.”

“Never heard of it.” Sherlock didn’t even bother to glance toward the constellation before turning back to the street. John gaped at him for a moment, until he remembered he was speaking to the same man who hadn’t known the Earth orbited around the sun.

“You don’t know the constellations, Sherlock?”

“It’s never been relevant.”

“But it’s such a broad topic! You don’t know _any_ of them?”

“I know the Zodiac.”

John breathed out slowly. “Okay, well, that’s something. You know that Zodiacs are constellations, right?”

Sherlock sighed, turning to face John as if the movement required an unfair amount of effort on his part. “I’m aware, yes.”

John peered up at the stars, attempting to remember the patterns. “You can’t see all of them at once, but a few should be visible. Like… aha, Pisces!” He pointed at a spot near the horizon, where a faint trail of stars could be seen snaking across the sky. Sherlock glanced at it only briefly before turning back to John. He didn’t say anything, and John took that as an invitation to continue.

“And there’s Orion, up there. See, those three bright stars, those are his belt.”

“He doesn’t seem to have a head,” Sherlock muttered under his breath, and John grinned wryly.

“You’re supposed to use your imagination. See, if you look at that bright star, there- to the left- that’s Sirius, his dog.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “I’m not convinced the person who named this knew what a dog looked like.”

“Your _imagination,_ Sherlock.”

Sherlock made a disparaging “feh” noise and turned back to the street.

John flopped back against his concrete ledge, but he wasn’t quite ready to let the conversation go. There was nothing better to do than talk, anyway- it was a distraction from his slowly numbing fingers.

“So you really have absolutely no knowledge or interest of the stars whatsoever?”

“Whatsoever,” Sherlock echoed firmly. There was a long pause, and John had just pulled out his phone to check the time yet again when Sherlock spoke up. “I did, however, make a brief study on the moon.”

John perked up at this. “Really? I thought it ‘wasn’t relevant.’”

Sherlock turned, and this time his eyes shone slightly with a familiar spark- John had seen it before when Sherlock explained the reasoning behind a particularly gruesome experiment in the kitchen. “The moon has quite a strong affect on our day to day lives,” he said simply. When John just looked at him quizzically, Sherlock sighed. “The _tides,_ ” he snapped, as if that should have been everyone’s first thought. “The time of year and fullness of the moon affects the tides, which, as I’m sure you know, dictate the flow of objects in the ocean. Bodies, for instance- or, well, pieces of bodies.” His mouth twitched upward at the corners, and John reminded himself to ask for the story behind that some day. “Not to mention that there have been several studies that show crime is more prevalent during the full moon. Whether the reason stems from psychological affects or simply the convenience of a better-lit night is up for debate, but the fact still stands.”

John smiled slightly at that. “So you know all that about the moon, but not a single constellation?”

The smile slid instantly off of Sherlock’s face, replaced with irritation. “But it’s not _relevant,_ John. You might enjoy making a habit of memorizing pictures in the sky, but you can hardly say it’s _useful._ ”

John sighed, too tired and chilly to argue. “At least it makes conversation.”

Sherlock didn’t respond- he was too busy leaning dangerously far over the ledge of the building. “There he is,” he muttered, and John joined him instantly, peering down onto the street. “Walking toward the apartments… judging by the slight limp in his bad leg he’s been walking for a while, so he likely met his associate. But he didn’t find what he was looking for- he’s frustrated, and he’s come back to demand answers. Which means,” Sherlock was on his feet before John could even process the movement, “unless we move quickly, this could end rather badly for dear Mr. Robinson. Come along, John!”

John scrambled after him, the stiffness in his legs forgotten, as they dashed down the stairwell and into the dark belly of the building. 

The stars stayed behind, twinkling away, silent.


End file.
